


Armed in Liberty

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - American Revolution, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 12,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9265181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “What will you do if I die?”“I shall mourn you, with all the proper customs and traditions that befit your social status and our relationship.”James quirked an eyebrow at him. “Relationship?”





	1. An Affectionate Farewell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdelenMontgomery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelenMontgomery/gifts).



The door of the Barnes’ home swung open, and James walked in, dragging Steve behind him. 

“Mother!”

The boys heard Winifred walk down the hall on the upper floor before she began to descend the stairs.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, James, not to yell in the house. Now what- My Lord!” Winifred saw Steve, a hand jumping to her heart. “What did you get into?”

“Another fight. Someone called Steve something unsavory and paid for it pretty well.” James grinned at his best friend. “But not as well as Steve did.” He dodged a half-hearted punch.

“Take him to the kitchen and get some water boiling. I’ll get your sister.” Winifred went back up the stairs.

They walked down the hall as if held to each other by glue; Steve holding to James, who supported Steve with an arm around his shoulders.

James kicked the kitchen door open. “Jack, go to the pump and get some water. Andy, make sure there’s plenty of wood for the fire.” The younger boys scrambled to do as they were told while James sat Steve down in a chair.

“Does anything feel broken? I can get Dr Banner.”

“No, you stay here. If I die tonight, I want you by my side.” Steve placed a hand on James’ shoulder.

James chuckled. “You’re not going to die, not tonight, at least. I know you, Steven Rogers. You’ll die on the battlefield, running some lobster bastard through with a bayonet while shooting another with a pistol.”

Steve smiled, dropping his hand to rest on the table. “And you? When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.” He didn’t meet Steve’s eyes, but took a sudden interest in the buckles on his shoes.

“Tomorrow.” Steve repeated softly, calmly.

The silence that followed was broken by Jack, who returned with a bucketful of water which he emptied into the large pot that hung in the fireplace. Andy got a fire going underneath the pot once it was filled.

“You’re based in New York?” Steve asked once the younger boys were gone.

James nodded. “Aye. The New York Artillery Company with Captain Lamb.”

Rebecca entered the kitchen just as the water began to boil, and got a ladle down from the wall, filling a bowl with the steaming liquid. She replaced the ladle and swung the pot back over the fire before walking to the table and placing the bowl between the two men. She sat at Steve’s feet with a rustle of skirts.

“You shouldn’t get into fights.” Rebecca reached for the bowl, and Steve handed it to her.

“I don’t try to. Bad luck follows me like a stray dog.” Steve defended himself, watching as Rebecca dipped both hands into the water and raised them, wringing out a cloth.

“Well, you could at least try to avoid fighting. You gave Mother quite a shock. And if Father knew…”

Steve hissed as the hot cloth went to his cheek.

“Father doesn’t need to know.” James’ voice rang through the room. Rebecca looked back at her brother.

“He and Mother love Steve like he’s their own son. Why wouldn’t he know?”

“Because Father currently has more important things to worry about. Like the fact that his son and heir will be fighting British troops, _his_ troops.”

James got up, walking out of the room and down the hall. Steve heard him walk up the stairs before turning his attention back to his cheek.

\--

When Steve retired for the evening, he found James in the room they shared; dressed in a uniform, navy blue with buff, a strip of green cloth sewn on the right shoulder. His hair was tied back with a navy ribbon, and the buckles of his shoes were polished to a gleaming shine.

“There’s rumors, you know,” Steve said, removing his shoes and taking off the hand-me-down coat. He looked at James before continuing: “that an up-and-coming officer will get promoted.”

James snorted. “Yeah right.”

Steve went to the basin stand. “Serve with Washington.”

James walked across the room. “Is that so?”

“So I’ve heard.” Steve untied the cravat around his neck, unwinding the cloth slowly and placing it on the basin stand.

“Anthony tell you about his father?”

It was Steve’s turn to snort. “He won’t shut up about it. I don’t think there’s anyone in New York who doesn’t know.”

There was a thump as James sat on the bed. “I bet they know in Jersey.”

Steve unbuttoned his waistcoat, throwing it and laughing when James caught it from the air. 

“Don’t throw your clothes, Steve.” The waistcoat landed on Steve’s head, covering his face as it fell, and Steve heard James cackle. He pulled the waistcoat from his head and set it underneath the basin stand.

The feather mattress poked at Steve as he sat next to James.

“I shall miss you with all my heart.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me, Rogers. I don’t intend on dying out there.”

“No one does.” Steve didn’t mean for the words to come out blunt, but they did.

“What will you do if I die?”

“I shall mourn you, with all the proper customs and traditions that befit your social status and our relationship.”

James quirked an eyebrow at him. “Relationship?”

“You know what I mean.”

James smirked. “Do I?”

“We’re not like that.” Steve said helplessly, knowing what James was playing at.

“Aren’t we?”

Steve was aware of how close they were to each other. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and spoke.

“I don’t want to do anything that either of us would regret later.”

With that, Steve got up and walked to his side of the bed, dropped his breeches, pulled off his garters and stockings, and got into bed.


	2. United in Love and Friendship

“Steve. _Steve_. Steve, wake up.”

“Mm?” Steve rolled over and opened his eyes, expecting to see James next to him. Instead, he saw the bed empty, and turned his head to see James standing next to the bed, a candle throwing shadows and light around the room.

“It’s still dark.” Steve protested, pulling the covers over himself as he snuck lower.

“I’m going.” His tone was firm, his voice unwavering.

“Oh.” Steve cast the blankets away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling his shirt down to mid-thigh. In the flickering candlelight, he saw that James was dressed in his uniform, and had swapped his shoes for boots. “Hercules is going with you?” He felt foolish for asking.

“Aye. I wonder how he’ll do on the battlefield.”

“I wonder how you’ll do.” Steve said under his breath.

“See me off?” James asked, after a pause.

“Aye, just let me dress. I’ll be at the stable soon.”

Steve gathered his clothes as James left, closing the door behind him. As he buttoned his waistcoat, he heard crying, which only increased as he tied a cravat around his neck and pulled his shoes on. Steve found Winifred and Rebecca crying in Master and Mistress Barnes’ room, the mother holding her daughter close. He wanted to cry, but swallowed this urge and made his way quietly down the stairs, out the front door, and around the house to the back, where the stable was located.

As a Lieutenant in His Majesty’s Army, Master Barnes had a few horses in his possession, two of which he had taken with him. His favorite was Hampshire, an English Thoroughbred mare with a sweet disposition and even temper. Steve always snuck her sugar whenever he got the chance. Winifred had allowed her husband to take Lanarkshire, her Eriskay and Highland pony mix, as a pack horse. Both these horses had been named for the counties where their owners’ families originated from, back in England and Scotland. There was another horse that they owned, belonging to the heir.

The stable had been built separately from the house, and was surrounded by a fence of overlapping rails. It was a simple building; stalls for the horses with a patch of green that ran from the back steps of the house to the stall doors. Jack joked that it was the only spot in the city where grass grew.

It was at this grassy area that James stood, the reins of his horse’s bridle firmly in one hand. Steve knelt on the ground, cupping his hands together so James could mount. He ignored the pain as the boot crushed his hand into the ground. Once James was mounted, Steve rose to look at him. The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon, tinting the sky a light blue.

“You should go.” Steve handed him his cocked hat.

James put the hat on. “Right.” The horse swished his tail. Then James leaned down, pulling Steve into an embrace.

He clucked to Hercules, named after the family tailor, and the Cleveland Bay began to walk forward. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” He turned and called behind him.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Steve called back.

James smiled and gave him a salute before turning forward and easing Hercules into a canter. Steve watched him go with a smile, then walked to the back door, quietly walking down the hall and heading up the stairs to make sure Jack and Andy were both still asleep. They were, and a glance into Rebecca’s room found that she had been tucked back into bed by her mother, who was also asleep. Going back downstairs, Steve went to the parlor and left a note for Winifred, explaining that he was going into town and would be back soon.

The trip from the outskirts of the village of Brooklyn to Manhattan did not take Steve long. It would have taken even less time if he had ridden there, but Roe had been grumpy when Steve had gone to get her, and he didn’t want to get kicked or bitten again.

Manhattan's main street was lined with shops, and people flocked to them. A general store, a newspaper shop, a cobbler, a cooper, one could get anything here. Steve stopped inside a store marked Howard Stark and Son.

“I’m the son.” A loud, obnoxious voice carried from the back of the store. Steve rolled his eyes as Anthony Stark came from the back room, carrying a bag over one shoulder. Behind him was Rhodes, a slave and a runaway. “That’s what I told Miss Potts. I’m Howard Stark’s son, I’m on the sign.” Spotting Steve, he set the bag down and popped up behind the counter, slapping his hands on the wood. “Ah, Mr Rogers. What brings you here this fine day?”

“I wanted to see if your father could do a bit of work for me. I have a pony, you see, and I’ve heard that the shoes he’s invented protect more of the hoof than other horseshoes.” Steve locked eyes with Rhodes as he spoke the last word.

Tony sighed. “I wish he could, but he’s gone off to the help with the war. General Washington himself sent Father a letter, and he knew he had to go-”

While Tony went on about his father, Steve and Rhodes slipped out of the store, just as a whole gaggle of young girls came in. They wove through the group of people on the streets, passing the dress shop and butcher. At the edge of the city, nestled in between the brewery and bakery, stood the Šarlát Škrata. 

Steve entered, nodding to Pietro, the tavern owner, as he and Rhodes made their way to the back of the establishment. At a table in the corner sat Nicholas, a old freedman. A black cloth was wrapped around his head, covering his left eye. He didn’t look up from his tankard when Steve and Rhodes sat near his table, but grunted by way of greeting.

Steve cleared his throat. “Nick, this is Rhodes, the man I was telling you about.”

“Come here boy.” Nick spoke in a rumble. Rhodes went to Nick, pulling up a chair and sitting beside him.

“You run?”

Rhodes nodded.

“The Parkers, from Queens?”

Rhodes nodded again.

“They have a history of slave keeping. Ever since Ben died in the French and Indian War, May’s had a number of slaves. And every time, they escape or Peter sets them free. They’ve got a new one now, a Haitian called Jones. I can get you into the war, if that’s what you want.”

“I want to fight in a battalion of black men. I want to show the British what I think of them.”

“Very well.” Nick stood, and Rhodes followed. “I have a house in Harlem you can use tonight. We’ll put you in a militia tomorrow.” They shook hands, and Steve mouthed thank you to Nick. Steve left the tavern, walking down the street to the newspaper shop. The door had barely closed when Steve was gripped into a lung-crushing hug.

“Steve!”

“Hello Luis.”

“It’s so good to see you again!” The energetic mestizo released him.

“You too Luis.” Steve looked at his shoes. “So, how’s your girl?”

“Oh, she left me for some British guy.”

“Oh.”

“And my mother died.”

“Same.”

“And my father went back to Spain.”

“Oh.” Steve frowned, feeling bad for his friend.

“But I got the shop!” Luis threw his arms out, a huge grin on his face.

“It’s nice.” Steve nodded, looking around. “But, uh, is Sam here? I wanted to see him before I go back.”

“I’ll get him. Sam!” Luis ran down the shop, yelling. “Steve’s here! You better come out before he leaves!”

Sam came out from the printing room, his apron smeared with ink. Upon seeing Steve, he broke into a gap-toothed grin and ran to him, gripping his forearms gently. “Steve!”

“Hey, Sam.”

Sam turned to Luis. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He looked back at Steve and released his arms. “How’ve you been?”

Steve smiled. “Fine. My lungs still act up sometimes, and you know how I am with fights…”

“Don’t go looking for trouble. I’ve got enough with Luis.” Sam jerked his head in Luis’ direction.

“But other people are wrong, Sam! That’s something I just can’t ignore.”

“Look, you still lived in Boston when the Massacre happened, right?”

“Aye.” Steve remembered it clearly; the whole city had been divided. John Adams had defended the British soldiers.

“Ok. Would you say the actions of those soldiers was right?”

“No! Firing into an unarmed crowd?” Steve was starting to get worked up.

“See, this is what you have to avoid.” Sam took on a more serious tone. “Just lie low for now, ok? When the other boys go off to war, as they will,” Sam knew that look in Steve’s eyes, it was dangerous. “you stay here. Keep your head down, lie low. No more fights, no more debates. You hear me?”

Steve nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, I hear you.”

“Good. Now go on,” he gently shoved Steve toward the door. “go home. Sit your ass down, and stay down.”

Steve left the store, walking down the street toward the bridge, thinking about what Sam said. His heart ached for James already, but he pushed that ache and those feelings away. He held his head up. War was coming, and he would be ready for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Šarlát Škrata is Slovak for Scarlet Witch.


	3. They Mean to Have a War

“Corporal Barnes?”

James turned to see a messenger in the doorway of the room he had been given to stay in. The soldier was small, skinny, blond. James felt a pang of longing for Steve.

“Yes?”

“Captain Lamb requests your presence tonight, following supper.”

James swallowed those thoughts and drowned those feelings. “Tell the Captain that it would be my utmost pleasure to meet with him this evening.”

“Sir.” The soldier touched a hand to his hat and made to leave.

“Wait. What’s your name?” James strode to the doorway.

The soldier turned back around to face his officer. “Henry Shaker, sir.”

“Are you any good with firearms, Shaker?”

“Fairly good, sir.”

“Thank you Shaker, that is all.” He dismissed the soldier with a wave of his hand.

“Sir.” Shaker touched his hat, bowed, and left the doorway. James closed the door behind him before going to the bed and lying upon it.

He let his eyes close, allowing his thoughts to wander. He had just been graced with a particularly interesting dream involving Steve, Sam, and himself at an eating competition when a knock on the door woke him.

“Supper is served, sir.”

James groaned and got up, opened the door and walked down the hall, stopping at a mirror to braid and retie his hair and smooth his hands down his uniform. Once he was sure he looked presentable, he entered the dining room where the officers were served their meals.

At the head of the table sat Captain Lamb, around him sat other officers. The meal was already on the table; steaming plates of lamb, fresh bread, hasty pudding, and cheese. There was wine—how did the Captain get wine?—and beer in abundance. The Captain, noticing James, waved him over.

“Corporal, come, sit on my right side.”

James sat as the Captain stood, holding aloft his glass of wine.

“Gentlemen, I propose a toast.”

Everyone raised their glasses.

“To the Union.” The Captain drank.

“To the Revolution!” One of the officers cried.

“Here, here.” Another chimed in.

They all drank.

Dinner was delicious, as it always was whenever James ate with the officers. Afterwards, the Captain asked James to walk with him to his office. Sitting down behind the desk, Captain Lamb waved James to a chair in front of the desk.

“Corporal, I’m giving orders for my company to seize twenty-four cannons from the Battery, assisted by a volunteer militia and a light unit of infantrymen. We shall leave in an hour. Ready your men.”

“Sir.” James stood, saluted his Captain, and left the office, heading down the hall and out the door. He didn’t think it was fair that the soldiers had to sleep outside while the officers got an entire house to themselves, but he wasn’t going to tell the Captain that. His men were encamped not far from the house, by a grove of trees. He sat down upon them, the glowing fire casting light on their faces and making shadows elsewhere.

“Dugan.”

“Sir!” The Irishman snapped a salute.

James stifled a laugh. “The Captain has just given orders for us to take British cannons at the Battery in an hour. We have the proper supplies, yes?”

“Aye sir, plenty of rope and muscle for the job, sir.”

“Very good.” James stood, dusting his pants off. “We leave in an hour.”

“Sir.” Dugan saluted again as James walked to the stable to visit Hercules.

The stallion was restless when James got to him, he could sense something. James patted his nose, talking to him quietly in the Gaelic of the Lowlands, a dying language back in Scotland.

“ _Fiot_?”

The bay nickered in response and James laughed.

“ _Ceart, ceart_!”

“Sir!”

“ _Mo ghaol ort_.” He kissed Hercules’ nose and walked out of the stable. Dugan held another horse’s reins for him, which he took as he mounted, riding up to join the Captain as the company made its way toward the Battery. His blood was on fire as they neared the artillery battery, the horses’ hooves clopping on the cobblestones in time with the pounding of the men’s feet as they marched ever nearer.

“Corporal!”

James recognized that voice, and broke away from the company to wheel back around to the house it had come from.

“Well, if it isn’t Peggy Carter.” James swept his cocked hat off, pressing it to his heart as he bowed as best he could.

Peggy was leaning out of her bedroom window. “Sir, where are you going at this time of night?”

“The Battery, my dear.” He swept a hand out at the company.

“Whyever would you go there?”

“Don’t you know?”

Peggy shook her head, dark brown curls bobbing up and down.

“Let your father or brother tell you tomorrow morning.” He replaced his cocked hat and made to return to the company.

“When you get promoted sir, bring your uniform here. I’ll sew that cloth on.” She winked at him, grinning mischievously.

“You’re a saucy girl, Peggy Carter.” James nudged the horse into a canter and caught up with the Captain.

When they reached the Battery, the men tied ropes around the cannons and began to drag them to the liberty pole near City Hall Park. They had got ten of the twenty four when the militia and infantry arrived, helping them take another five. Then _HMS Asia_ began firing upon them. They had just taken a sixteenth cannon when there was an uproar.

“Where’s my musket?”

“I left it in the Battery. Where are you going?” A voice with a vaguely Irish accent asked.

“To get my gun.”

James watched a streak of auburn run past him, back toward the Battery. The _Asia_ was still firing upon them. He dismounted and returned to the Battery himself, helping a group of men to move another cannon. That made seventeen. James leaned against a tree, catching his breath before he returned to move another blasted cannon. There was the sound of footsteps approaching, and he cocked his pistol before pushing off the tree, aiming at what or whoever was coming closer.

“You wouldn’t shoot your tailor, would you?” The same Irish voice from before asked.

James lowered the gun, carefully putting the hammer back down into an unfired position.

“Mr Mulligan. Forgive me, I thought you were the enemy.”

The Irishman chuckled. “It’s quite alright, James, I don’t blame you. One must be careful during these times.”

“Aye.” James swept a piece of hair out of his face. In all the action, his hair had come loose.

“How is your father?”

They walked back to the Battery together, under the cover of the woods and the night.

“Father is busy, as usual. He seems to care more for king and country than his own children.” James said bitterly.

“Ah, war can do that to people. It takes the best of men and turns them, makes them into different beings, so they become shells of their former selves.”

James hoped that he wouldn’t become like that. He thought of Steve. What would he do, if this war turned him?

He pushed away those thoughts as they joined the other men in taking a twenty-first cannon. The _Asia_ was still firing when they escaped into the woods, the cannon in tow.

“Good work men.” Captain Lamb commended them when they got back to City Hall Park.

“We sure made them mad.” One of the militiamen said.

“We certainly did. I’m sure one of the officers here will be chosen for promotion. Now, who wants a drink?”

The men cheered as the Captain lead them to a nearby tavern for celebratory beers. James felt a painful tugging at his heartstrings, a loss that hit him hard and deep. He shoved that loss away and walked on, driven forward by the men’s cheers and his own sense of pride in what they had done that night and into the early morning hours. War was coming, and he was ready for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiot: Scottish Gaelic; ready
> 
> Ceart: Scottish Gaelic; ok
> 
> Mo ghaol ort: Scottish Gaelic; I love you


	4. Invincible By Any Force

James wrote to Steve the day after the cannon theft.

_My dear Steven, Not a day goes by that I do not think of you. How are my mother and brothers and sister? I know Mother and Rebecca cried when I left. I must ask something difficult of you, and though you may not succeed in this, it is of the highest importance that you try to stay the outcome. You must keep my brothers from entering the army. I know Jack will want to go, and Andrew will undoubtedly follow him, but they must not. If my Father and I die, that is well, for Jack and Andrew can care for our family. But if the four of us die, then there is only you to care for Mother and Rebecca, something that I can ask you to do only until I or Father return. Please, stay their leave if you can. All my love is with you. Adieu, B. Barnes_

James folded the letter, the pounce working to keep the ink from blotting or smearing. He dripped red, hot wax on the paper, sealing it closed with a signet ring bearing his mother’s crest, as his father sealed his letters with his own crest. The letter was given to Shaker to deliver, and James saw him off, wishing him luck and a safe journey.

Two weeks after he sent his letter, James received a reply from Steve and a package wrapped in paper.

_My dear James, How I miss you. Your mother and sister miss you terribly, but they are well. Your brothers are both joining militia groups, despite my telling them not to. You will be glad to know that I am keeping my head down, as told to by Sam, and I only leave the house to get food or to visit Luis or the twins. Wanda misses you dearly, and made you trdelník. You have my thoughts and love. Adieu, S. Rogers_

The package bore the word _medveď_ in a looping hand. James unwrapped it carefully, finding the pastry cake was still warm. It smelled of sugar and walnuts, and James had to stop himself from eating the whole thing in one sitting. 

Captain Lamb’s statement that one of the officers at the Battery would be promoted turned out to be correct, as on the fourteenth of March, 1776, six months after the Battery raid and only a few days after his twenty-sixth birthday, James received a letter from the New York Provincial Congress, stating that he had been promoted from Corporal to Sergeant, and that he had been reassigned to the New York Provincial Company of Artillery.

James packed what he had brought; a few items of clothing, Steve’s letter, the trdelník, and put them into a haversack, which he slung across his left shoulder so it sat on his right hip. He went to the stable, getting his tack and saddle blanket, and leading Hercules out of the stall, put the saddle blanket on him before tightening the saddle and ensuring that the breastplate and crupper were in place before he mounted, nudging Hercules into a canter.

The Carters lived in Manhattan, not far from the green where Captain Lamb and his men had been encamped since July, 1775. Though he knew how risky it was for an officer of the Continental Army to seek assistance at this residence, Peggy had offered her services herself. Besides, it was cheaper than going to a seamstress.

James dismounted in front of the house, put the head collar over the bridle and tied Hercules to a nearby hitching post before gathering pebbles, which he threw at Peggy’s bedroom window.

“Peggy!” The pebble bounced off the glass.

“Peggy Carter, are you home?” Another pebble plinked from the window.

“Peggy!”

James didn’t see the window be pulled up, and the next pebble hit Peggy in the face.

A hand flew to her cheek. “Ow!”

“Sorry.”

“I take it you have been promoted?”

“Aye, I have.” James began to climb a nearby tree.

“What are you doing?” Peggy laughed, moving away from the window as he came nearer.

“The question is not what I am doing, but rather what you will be doing for me.” James stepped into her room and took his uniform coat from his haversack. “Could you sew a red cloth on this for me?”

Peggy took the coat. “Gladly.” She looked at James a moment before taking a needle and thread from a sewing bag on her desk and sitting down in an overstuffed chair. “You should shave.” She took the stitches out of the green cloth, removing it from the coat, knotting the thread and pulling it through the needle. James ran a hand along his jaw and frowned. It had been two days, maybe three, since he last shaved. But Peggy was right, appearing to one’s new Captain unshaven would be unseemly.

“Could I use your basin?” James filled the basin with hot water from a nearby pitcher.

“Of course. You have red cloth, yes?”

“Aye.” James stopped rubbing soap on his face, reached into a pocket of his breeches and pulled out a small bundle, wrapped in an old white rag. He unwrapped it, taking the red cloth to Peggy. “Here you are.”

“Where did you get this?” She began sewing the cloth to the right shoulder of the coat while James sharpened his straight blade.

“A dead lobster.” He said nonchalantly, beginning to shave in quick, downward strokes.

Peggy stopped sewing and looked at him. “Not my brother, I hope.”

“What, Michael's dead?” James looked at Peggy in the wall-mounted mirror as he continued to shave.

“Not that I’ve heard.”

They continued in silence, until it was broken by Peggy.

“You’ve seen action, then.” She was nearly done, as was James.

“Aye. Your people are spectacular fighters, Peggy. Never want to give up.” He washed his face, patting it dry with a towel before lifting the basin out of the stand and walking it over to the open window. “I’m going to dump it on Pierce’s head. Ready?”

“James, don’t! You know Pierce is good friends with my father.”

“Aye, I do know that. But I also know that he’s an arsehole, and has done nothing but hinder the Revolution ever since he got here. Slimy old bastard.”

“Just throw it out into the street. I’m done, so you’d better get going.”

James reluctantly emptied the basin into the street instead of Pierce’s head, and replaced the basin. Peggy brought him his coat, helping him to put it on.

“There.” She smoothed her hands down the navy and buff fabric. “Now you look presentable, Sergeant.”

“Thanks Peggy.” James placed a kiss to her cheek, noticing the blush that rose up as he pulled away. He climbed out the window and down the tree, untied Hercules, and mounted. “Until we meet again.” He raised his cocked hat as Peggy blew him a kiss before he wheeled the bay around and cantered up the street.

The Provincial Company was stationed on the outskirts of Manhattan, on the side opposite Captain Lamb’s company, further into the woods. James reached the camp around midday, as he had doubled around and had to retrace his steps.

“Halt.” A soldier with a musket stopped him. “State your name and business.”

“Sergeant James Barnes. I was reassigned to this company by Congress. I’m here to see the Captain.”

The soldier lowered his musket and waved James through. He passed at a walk, stopping and dismounting once he reached the Captain’s tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trdelník is a Slovakian pastry cake, similar to a doughnut, made on a stick and topped with walnuts and sugar.
> 
> Medveď is Slovak for bear.


	5. Avoid all Hot-Headed Proceedings

James steadied his nerves as he tied Hercules to a sturdy, low-hanging tree branch. He breathed deeply as he pushed aside the tent flap and entered. An auburn haired young man looked up from his writing. James saluted and bowed, tucking his hat beneath an arm.

“Captain, I am Sergeant James Barnes. I served with Captain Lamb’s Artillery Company before receiving orders from Congress that I was to be reassigned here.”

The young man came out from behind the desk as James righted himself. “I am Captain Hamilton.” He had an accent, New York and something James couldn’t place, somewhere he hadn’t heard before.

“Captain.” Another soldier appeared, saluting. “Correspondence from General Washington, sir.” He handed Hamilton a letter before saluting and leaving. Hamilton placed the letter on his desk before he resumed the conversion.

“You were at the Battery last year, were you not?”

“Aye sir, I was a Corporal then.”

“Congress promoted you, as they have me.” Hamilton smiled. “Would you care to join me for supper tonight Sergeant?”

James blinked, feeling suddenly numb. “Aye sir, if I may.”

Hamilton walked back to his desk and sat down. “Then it’s settled. You should walk around the camp, get to know the men. Although,” Hamilton looked up from Washington’s letter, “I hear that some of your men will be joining us.”

James smiled to himself. Outside, Hercules stamped at the ground and whinnied.

“Sir,” James bowed and walked outside, calming his horse. “Woah _balach_ , _soirbh_ Hercules, _soirbh_.” He stroked the stallion’s nose, shushing him. “ _Math balach_.” He returned to the Captain’s tent once Hercules was calm.

“I apologize sir, my horse can be impatient at times.”

“What language were you speaking to him?” Hamilton did not look up from writing.

“Gaelic, from Scotland, sir. My mother is Scottish, she taught me her tongue.” James steadied himself.

“Hercules is an interesting name for a horse.”

“He’s named after our family tailor, Mr Mulligan.”

Hamilton looked up at James. “You know Hercules Mulligan?”

“Aye sir. My father swears by him.”

Hamilton returned to writing, looking back down. “I haven’t heard of your father. Is he with General Greene?”

James frowned. “No, sir. He’s a Lieutenant with the Royal Artillery, currently in Connecticut, sir.”

Hamilton put down his quill, fixing his blue eyes upon James. “Thomas Paine wrote that “These are the times which try men’s souls.” I believe this is true now more than ever. This war has turned son against father, brother against brother. You should not feel ashamed for fighting on our side, for we have Washington with us.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall take my leave now.” James bowed again and replaced his cocked hat as he exited the tent. He untied Hercules, leading him through the jungle of tents and men crouched around campfires to the tent that had been prepared for him. Tying Hercules to a nearby log, James was intent on inspecting the interior of the lodging when a voice from behind stopped him.

“Well, if it isn’t the Itchland hobbledehoy.”

James turned around slowly. “Mr Rumlow. To what do I owe the pleasure?” James swept his hat from his hat as the subaltern came near, Rollins close behind.

“None of your business.”

James made to enter the tent when Rumlow grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him around and slamming him into the ground, face first.

“ _Toll na tòine_.” James mumbled into the ground, rolling onto his side and not wanting to get up. He saw Rumlow’s boot aimed for his stomach, and reached for his knife, when there was yelling.

“Leave him alone!”

Rumlow laughed. It was a nasty, almost birdlike sound; one which quickly became a howl of pain as Rumlow dropped to his knees.

“He said, leave him alone.”

The heavy footsteps crunched through the leaves and frost until they reached James.

“Sergeant Barnes, is that you, sir?”

“Dugan?” James pushed himself up and leaned against a tree, glaring at Rumlow. “I’ll let you rescind what you said about me. If not, we duel.”

“When and where?”

James sighed, looking around the dense forest. “Over there.” He pointed to a clearing not far from the camp. “It’s far enough away that the others shouldn’t hear us. As for the time, seven in the morning.”

“I accept. Rollins, you’re my second!”

Dugan snorted. “He’s long gone, you’ll have to catch up with him.”

Rumlow scrambled to his feet and headed back toward one of the smaller encampments.

“Thank you for saving me, Dugan.”

“Don’t thank me, thank him.” Dugan jerked a thumb at the small figure of Henry Shaker.

James walked slowly to the young lad.

“Henry.”

The boy jumped, having not heard James approaching the tree against which he had been resting.

“Don’t run.” James gently placed a hand on Shaker’s arm. “I would be honored if you would be my second, Henry.”

“Sir,” Henry swallowed, “the honor would be all mine.”

James smiled. “I’m glad. Now prepare yourself. We wake early, and death sleeps for no man.”

He entered the tent, listening as the men began to sing “The Wraggle, Taggle Gypsies, O!”. James sighed and thought of how he used to play “Bubak And Hungaricus” with his siblings. Back when being _trianrat_ wasn’t so bad. Back when he didn’t-

He shoved those thoughts and feelings away. If Steve could, he would have come and seen him, James knew that. Sitting on the cot he had been provided, James took the haversack and opened it, finding the rest of Wanda’s trdelník and eating a single ring. Outside, men drilled and played out battle scenes as others ate and sang. James thought of home, of Steve, and how those two seemed inexplicably connected with one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soirbh: Scottish Gaelic; easy
> 
> Math balach: Scottish Gaelic; good boy
> 
> Toll na tòine: Scottish Gaelic; arsehole
> 
> Trianrat: Scottish Gaelic and Romani chib; literally third blood, from the Gaelic "trian" third and Romani chib "rat" blood. This word doesn't exist, I just combined the two separate words to form this one word, which I am sure you aren't supposed to do with languages you don't know, but there's really no way for me describe exactly what blend Bucky is, other than that word. His mother is Lowlands Scottish and Lowlands Gypsy, she's poshrat; halfblood. But because Bucky has an English father, he's Scottish, Gypsy, and English, however he isn't Romanichal because the Gypsy comes from his mother, not his father. Gypsy in this sense is not a slur, since the Romani in the UK have always used that word in describing themselves.


	6. Taking His Ground

James awoke during the small hours of the night, sitting upright in the cot and scrubbing a hand over his face. Getting up, he groped around in the dark until he found his tinderbox and a candle. Striking the flint against the steel sent sparks onto the char cloth, onto which James tipped the candle until the wick caught and burned. Placing the candle into a candlestick, James found a ribbon in his haversack and tied back his hair, slipping into his shoes before he headed outside.

Dropping his drawers, he groaned as the piss hit the ground. Hercules nickered. James was too tired to speak to him in Gaelic; English would have to do.

“Don’t look at me like that.” The stallion nipped at his shirt, by the elbow. “What, like you’ve never had to piss in the night.” He pulled his drawers back on, buttoning them before going back inside. “Go back to sleep, Hercules.”

James wished he could sleep. Instead he stayed awake, lying on the cot, thinking of the forthcoming duel, of his family, of...Steve. He sat up, getting up from the cot only to sit on a folding stool. No, no, stop. Those thoughts were wrong. Worse than wrong, they were sinful. And yet…why was he flushing? He breathed deeply, trying to think of other things: military strategies, battle plans, the duel…Steve. Stop it! 

He rose quickly, and the stool fell. He began to pace the tent, fuming now, angry at himself. Why was he like this? Why did he have to be so…different? It was wrong, he knew. Hell was full of liars, and cheaters, and men who loved their fellows; men, he realized with a sickening twinge of guilt, like him. But no, he wasn’t like them, they did unspeakable things, horrible things. Things they could be killed for. 

It was harder for him to walk now. Go away! He righted the stool, sat back down. He deepened his breathing, thinking of anything; cobblestones, food, the woods, guns, ships, the number of freckles on Steve’s nose. He shut his eyes; as badly as he wanted to fetch his mettle, he knew that too was a sin, and so stayed his hand.

He eventually fell back asleep, only to be awoken by Dugan.

“Sir, it’s time.”

“Right.”

As he dressed, James thought of the Captain. Should he tell him? But he wouldn’t understand, couldn’t possibly…and he could rat on James, get him court-martialed. End his military career, disgrace him forever. If he killed Rumlow, that could be explained. He forewent his uniform, dressing in a pair of dark brown breeches, a white shirt, and dark blue coat. He loaded his pistol and handed it to Shaker as they walked to the clearing, where Rumlow and Rollins already were.

“We’ll take ten paces, then fire on the count of ten.” James said as he stood back-to-back with Rumlow.

Henry counted.

“One.” The men took one step from each other. 

“Two.” Another step. 

“Three.” The grass was crushed under their feet. 

“Four.” Adrenaline rushed through James.

“Five.” 

“Can you count any faster?”

“Six.”

“You’re doing fine Henry, don’t listen to him.”

“Seven.” The men were nearly to their seconds. 

“Eight.” James could hear the blood pounding in his ears. 

“Nine.” His finger itched on the trigger.

“Ten.” 

James turned and shot Rumlow in the chest.

“Do you yield?” James asked as he approached the fallen officer.

“Yes.” Rumlow managed to answer. Rollins knelt by his side, pressing his hands to Rumlow’s chest.

“Here comes the Captain.” Henry warned.

“This should be fun.” James rolled his eyes.

“What is the meaning of this? Shaker, get Dr Erskine.”

“Sir.” Henry saluted and ran off back to camp.

“Sergeant.”

James saluted. “Sir.”

“Come with me.” 

James followed the Captain back to his tent.

Hamilton turned to James. “How did this occur, Sergeant?”

James watched his Captain. “Rumlow insulted and attacked me, unprovoked, sir. I gave him the chance to rescind, but he just wanted to fight.”

“I see. It was a duel of honor.” Hamilton smiled.

“Aye, sir, that it was.” James couldn’t help but smile himself. He felt an easiness around Hamilton that he hadn’t felt around Lamb. It wasn’t just his good looks, for Hamilton certainly was a beautiful man. There was something else, something deeper.

“A man can not be court-martialed for defending his honor. You may go, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir.” James saluted and left, just as a messenger entered the tent.

“Sir, correspondence from John Laurens.”


	7. By the Past

In June, 1776, Hamilton ordered his company to march to Manhattan, where they began digging. Congress had ordered them to build a fort upon Bunyard Hill, a heptagonal building which Hamilton named Bunker Hill. The night that the earthworks and fort were completed was one of celebration. The men were given wine and beer, and caroused late that night and into the morning. Around one o’clock James left his room, joining his men in a local tavern.

“There’s our raggle taggle Sergeant.” Dugan raised his pewter mug in salute.

James spread his arms out. “I am here.” He sat next to Dugan on a long bench, the fire crackling and casting shadows around the small group. Sam passed him a mug.

“We’ve been talking, sir, and the men and I all want to hear you play something.” Dugan took a sip from his mug.

James nearly choked on his beer. “What would you have me play?”

“Whatever you like.” Dugan took a violin from Shaker. “Here you are.”

James took the instrument, setting his mug on the table. He raised an eyebrow at Dugan. “You got a _jarko_?”

“A what?”

“A bow.”

“Oh. Yeah, right here.” Dugan gave him the bow, which James took before standing, placing the violin under his chin. The song he played was short, gradually getting faster before slowing down, only to pick up speed again at the end. He lost himself in the music, drawing out the last note before lowering the bow and pulling the violin away.

The men clapped and cheered, James flushed and bowed, setting the instrument down before sitting himself.

“It’s a beautiful instrument, got lovely sound. But I’m not that good.” He picked up his mug and took a long drink. The alcohol had gone to the men’s heads, and along with the late hour, had impaired their judgement.

When his mug was finished, James wished his men a good night and left the tavern, heading back to the house in which the Captain and officers were staying. It was, like the house Captain Lamb stayed in, commandeered from Loyalists, although James would have rather stayed with the Carters than live in a house that would soon be empty.

\--

On July fourth, Hamilton stood in Bunker Hill when James was called to him.

“What do you see, Sergeant?” Hamilton handed James his telescope, which James took and looked through.

“British warships, sir.” He handed the telescope back.

“Yes, and they’re going in number. Soon the entire Harbor will be filled with them. I must warn General Washington at once. Ready your men.”

“Sir.” James saluted before descending the winding stone stairs that lead to the first floor of the fort.

Five days later, on the ninth, the New York Provincial Company of Artillery gathered around City Hall to hear the Declaration of Independence read. James thought of Steve, of how much this declaration must mean to him. After hearing the Declaration, the company marched down Broadway. Ropes were thrown over the statue of King George III, and the men pulled to tear it down, smashing it once it hit the ground.

There were wild celebrations afterward, during which James snuck away from the house to visit Peggy.

“James, why don’t you come in?” Peggy sat by the window, sewing.

“I’m fine.” He sat on a tree branch, hoping it wouldn’t break. “Besides, what would your mother say if she saw me?”

“Mother knows how you got conscripted into the Continental Army. I explained it to her the day you told me. She knows your parents have remained loyal to the Crown. It’s your brothers whose motives she can’t understand.”

“Speaking of brothers, how’s Michael?”

“Alive and well. I got a letter from him today.” Peggy finished her sewing, folding the blanket and placing it in a basket on the floor.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Peggy straightened up, looking at him. “Are you alright, James? You seem distant.”

“I miss Steve.”

Peggy leaned forward, placing a hand over his. “I miss him too.”

Bells began ringing, James looked around quickly.

“I have to go.” He took his hand from Peggy’s and climbed down the tree, running down the street as soon as he hit the ground. Peggy sighed.

“You’re a good man, James. I pray this war does not rob you of that goodness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Bucky plays is ["Bubak and Hungaricus"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dmxA-bf8wyI).


	8. The Eyes of all our Countrymen

The British began sailing to Long Island in August. James was called to Bunker Hill to meet with Hamilton once more.

“They’re not headed towards Manhattan.” The Captain handed James his spyglass. “They’re going to-”

“Brooklyn.” James gave the glass back, a nauseous feeling bubbling up within him. “Steve.” He barely breathed the name aloud. “Sir, may I have permission to leave camp?”

Hamilton collapsed the spyglass. “I know you have family there, but I cannot allow an officer to enter enemy territory. If we lost you, we would lose one of our best. Do you understand?”

James swallowed, pushing down the pain in his throat and chest. “Yes sir, I do.”

Understanding orders did not prevent James from disobeying them. He mounted Hercules before he could stop himself, nudging the stallion into a trot as Sam approached him.

“Where are you going?” Sam walked briskly to keep up.

“Home. The British are marching toward the village, I have to warn Steve.”

“You don’t think he already knows? Look, I know you care about him, but he knows to keep his head down when he has to.”

James huffed. “I hate it when you’re right.” He wheeled Hercules around and slowed him to a walk, heading back to the main body of the camp, where he dismounted.

James put the head collar over Hercules after removing the bridle and saddle, putting them in his tent along with the saddle blanket. He rubbed a hand over his horse’s coat, talking to him softly in his mother’s tongue.

“ _Rinkano chai_.” He smiled, running his fingers in Hercules’ mane.

“That doesn’t sound like Gaelic.” James looked up; Sam stood on Hercules’ other side.

“That’s because it’s my mother’s other tongue. We call it the _jib_.”

In the city, bells were rung. James looked across the camp, toward the Harbor.

“You miss him, I get it. You’ll see him soon enough though.”

James looked at Sam, who looked up from the ground.

“Terms expire with the new year. You’ll go home and see Steve again.”

“As much as I would like that to happen, Sam, I’ll be continuing to fight on Washington’s side come next year. If I am not court-martialed first.”

“But the Captain-” Sam began.

James held up a hand. “I know the Captain is very eloquent in his writing, but my killing of Rumlow was not justified, at least not to me.” He secured Hercules’ rope to a peg in the ground, which was covered with a large heavy rock to prevent it from being pulled up.

“I’m willing to wait for Steve, just as he is for me. I just hope he hasn’t gone and gotten himself killed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rinkano chai is Angloromani for beautiful boy.
> 
> Jib is Angloromani for language.


	9. Laid in Ashes

“And you’re sure this will work?” Steve asked as Jane stirred a flower petal and oil mixture, adding beeswax for a waxy finish.

“Absolutely.” Jane painted her lips with the red concoction, leaning over Peggy’s basin stand to get closer to the mirror.

“We know how much he means to you.” Pepper adjusted the sleeves of her light pink gown.

“So, we’re willing to go with you.” Peggy tied a grey cloak at the base of her throat. “Ladies, the carriage awaits.”

\--

“Sir, you have visitors.”

James looked up from cleaning his pistol. “Visitors?”

“Yes sir.”

James threw the oily rag down and walked downstairs with the soldier, being led to the parlor.

“These women said they know you, sir.”

The parlor door swung open and Peggy stood and curtsied, followed by Pepper, Jane, and-

“Wanda!” James went straight to her, pulling her into a hug. “How have you been, _mil_?”

“Better now that I have seen you again, _medved’_.” She broke away, holding him at arm’s length. “I am happy to know that you are alive.”

James cleared his throat and turned back to the soldier. “Yes, I know these women. You may return to your post.”

The soldier saluted and left the house.

“Sit down, sit down.” Peggy sat back in the overstuffed chair, followed by Pepper and Jane on a sofa, and Wanda at another chair. “Oh, who is this?”

The blonde sat in a third chair, a hand going to the high wig perched somewhat precariously on her head.

“She’s my cousin, Susan Riley. She’s visiting from England.” Peggy explained.

“I see. Sergeant James Barnes.” James kissed Susan’s outstretched hand. “Is this your first visit to the United States, Miss Riley?”

“Yes, and such a visit it’s been, too! Rebels everywhere. Why, just the other day they burned the city!”

“That certainly is concerning. Peggy, may I have a word? In private?” The last two words were said through clenched teeth as James made eye contact with the noblewoman. They walked outside, around the house.

“You brought your Loyalist cousin here, to a camp of the Continental Army. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“There’s a reason I brought her here. She really wanted to meet you.”

“Me?” James stopped walking and faced Peggy.

“Yes, I’ve told her all about you.” Peggy fixed the lace ruffles on the sleeves of her pale yellow silk gown.

“We should go back, before someone suspects we’re up to something.”

“Up to something?”

“There’s been talk of spies within the Army. It’s hard to tell who one can trust anymore.”

Peggy stepped in front of James, nearly causing him to trip. “You can trust me, James. And you can trust Steve.”

When they entered the house, they were greeted with raucous laughter. Pepper was in the middle of telling a story involving herself and Anthony Stark.

“I think we should be going now ladies.” Peggy nearly commanded them.

“Can’t I stay a bit longer, Peggy?” Susan pouted.

“All right, you may stay. The rest of us will wait in the carriage.”

When the other women were gone, James walked to where the lady sat, sitting in a nearby chair.

“England is far from here.” James cursed himself, you call that small talk?

“Yes, the journey was very long, and very perilous.”

“You must be very brave, Miss Riley.” James tried to be flattering and kind.

“Oh please, call me Susan, Sergeant.” She moved over to him, sitting on his lap.

James tried to keep from blushing as she snaked a hand over his chest. “Susan, I-”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “Sh. Don’t speak.” She moved her finger down his chin, down his neck, until it caught at his uniform coat. Then she pressed her lips to his, gently. James found himself kissing her back, his hands reaching up for her wig and snatching it off, revealing closely-cropped blond hair.

“Ah! I knew it!” He threw the wig to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mil: Scottish Gaelic; honey
> 
> Medved' is Slovak for bear.


	10. Wicked with Religion

If anyone had been in the officers’ house that day, they would have heard things that, if spoken aboard, would have gotten one man killed, and another court-martialed. Fortunately, the house was empty.

“Steve, what are you doing here?”

“I had to come and see you. This was the only way I could think of getting into camp without arousing suspicion.”

“Well, it failed. You’ve aroused me instead.”

Before Steve could respond, James kissed him again, rougher this time than before. Steve pressed into it, deepening the kiss until James broke away, pressing feather-light kisses to Steve’s cheek and traveling down his neck. Steve sighed, and when James broke away to grin at him, leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

“We should get away from here. What if someone comes back?” Steve hopped off James’ lap and snatched up the wig from where it had been thrown on the floor, setting it into place on his head. James got up and took his hand, leading Steve out of the room and up the stairs.

“Where are you taking me?” Steve nearly missed the last step.

“I’m about to change your life.” James lead him down the hall.

“Then by all means, lead the way.”

They ended up in the room James had been given. Steve closed the door behind him before pressing his back to it, James removed his coat and went to Steve, kissing him fervently while leading him closer to the bed. Steve grinned mischievously when they separated.

“Come now, let’s make a man of you.” He knocked the wig to the floor, kicked off the uncomfortable heels.

\--

Before morning the next day, Steve put the gown and wig and heels back on, gave James a parting kiss, and left, heading back to the Carter's house in Manhattan. He was sad to go, but knew it was necessary if he wanted to maintain both of their safety.


	11. All Around Me Wrapped in Sleep

Sam was right; once 1777 came many of the men returned to their homes and families. The day Sam returned to Manhattan and entered the newspaper shop again, he found it empty, so he went to Luis’ house by the east side. Sam knocked twice, but when Luis didn’t come to the door, turned the knob and entered.

“Luis? You home?”

There was an odd scraping sound in the silence that followed, like the sound of a mortar and pestle in use.

“Yeah Sam, I’m in the kitchen.”

Sam walked down the hall and saw Luis kneeling on the floor, rocking a long, nearly cylindrical stone along a larger, more rectangular stone, pushing ground corn into a bowl at the end of the larger stone. Luis stopped grinding the corn and looked up at Sam.

“What are you doing?”

“Making tortillas.” Luis pointed to the corn disks which sat on a flat circular disk suspended over the fire. Sam walked over and saw how they had slight spots of dark brown. He poked at one, watching how it didn’t change shape.

Sam went to the table and pulled out a chair. “Why?” He sat down, watching Luis as he went back to grinding corn.

“There’s a man I’m breaking out of prison, and he needs to eat.”

Sam stood up. “What?!”

Luis placed the _mano_ at the end of the _metate_ and went to the fire to check on the tortillas, flipping them over with quick turns of his hand. “Steve can’t do it, so I thought I would. I’m delivering the extra tortillas to Washington’s men in New Jersey.”

Sam sat back down, sighing and resting his head on his fist. “I don’t like it, but I won’t stop you. Don’t blame me if you end up on the _Jersey_.”

“The _Jersey_?” Luis scoffed. “I’d rather die.” He was back to grinding corn when Sam stood up.

“I’m leaving. Someone’s got to watch the shop.”

“Wait, Sam, before you go.” Luis added more corn kernels to the _metate_. “You ever heard of Scott Lang?”

Sam shook his head. “Should I?”

“No, but you will.” Luis kept grinding the corn, pushing the flour toward the bowl.

\--

“Hey, you Lang?” Luis whispered to the bundle pressed against the far corner of the cell. The light that filtered in through the small barred window was tainted with dust. The jail smelled awful; unwashed bodies and dirty straw mixed with bad food. Luis tightened his grip on the basket of tortillas, covered with an old rag to keep them warm.

“Yeah.” The bundle whispered in a voice gruff from disuse.

“Alright, stay there.” Luis reached into his basket and pulled out a small roll of paper, which he shoved into the keyhole of the cell’s lock. Striking a piece of flint under the paper set the gunpowder alight, and Luis stepped well away when it blew. The lock was blown apart and Luis entered the cell.

“Come with me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I just got you out of jail. Now come on, before the guards notice anything.”

Luis lead Lang out of the prison and took him back to his house. After getting him a shave and a change of clothes, Luis sat Lang down and plied him with tortillas.

“So, why were you in jail?”

“Pickpocketing from British officers.” Lang said, in between bites of tortilla. “What was that thing you used to get me out?”

Luis grinned. “A taco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mano is a long handheld stone used for grinding corn along with a metate, a longer stone which holds the corn as the mano grinds it.


	12. A Brave and Free People

“So you just wrap gunpowder in paper and…boom?”

“Boom.” Luis echoed, making a little explosion with his hands.

“I bet our boys could use them against the British.” Scott leaned back in his chair, chewing the remains of a tortilla that had long since gone cold, not that he minded.

“I’m taking some to Morristown, to demonstrate for Washington.” Luis pulled his coat on and stepped out of the door.

“You’re going to walk all the way to New Jersey?” Scott asked as he closed the door, walking quickly to catch up with Luis. “Wouldn’t it be faster to ride?”

“Look at me. I’m not some _vaquero_ , I run a newspaper shop. I can handle horses just fine, but I don’t have one of my own. Now, _mi madre_ , she used to cook for the silver miners, back home, and that’s where she told me about tacos, those little rolls of gunpowder. She made the best _duraznos prensados_ , she used to cook for a convent, before I was born. She was going to be a nun, but then she met my father, a Spanish officer, and-”

Scott let Luis talk about his family, and hadn’t realized Luis had stopped walking until he nearly banged into the front door of a house, a door on which Luis knocked three times.

The door was opened by a young woman with dark brown hair. “Luis, come in.”

“Is he gone?” Luis asked as he and Scott crossed the threshold. The young woman lead them up to her room.

“Yes, he left this morning. I’m afraid I don’t know your friend.”

“Scott Lang, miss.” Scott bowed.

The young woman curtsied. “Peggy Carter.”

“Thank you for letting us stay the night.” Luis set the basket down in a chair.

“It’s no trouble, I just wish you didn’t have to leave so soon.” Peggy poked at the fire to keep it burning.

\--

At five in the morning, Luis and Scott slipped out of the Carter’s house and headed for the woods, passing into New Jersey through a Continental-maintained checkpoint. After Washington’s men had successfully retaken both Princeton and Trenton, New Jersey was back under Continental law. Making their way to the Morristown camp proved much easier than Luis had thought it would be, as his arrival was highly anticipated by one of the officers encamped there.

Having removed himself from the house after the supper table became too crowded, James found himself sitting next to a Major from Long Island, and the two began to talk of their homes and friends back in New York. It was during this conversation that James spotted Luis and his basket of tortillas.

“Luis, come sit.” James beckoned the mestizo over by him.

Luis sat on James’ right, with Scott sitting on Luis’ right. He removed the cloth and shared a few tortillas with the two officers, saving the rest for the troops.

“Why did you leave supper so soon?” The Major asked James, after they had both finished their tortillas and Luis and Scott went around the camp to deliver their goods.

James leaned closer to the fire, throwing light and shadow around his face. “You won’t believe me when I say this, but that room is full of spies and traitors.” He straightened up somewhat, adjusting the ribbon in his hair.

“You’re right, I don’t believe you.”

“You’ll see what becomes of Generals Charles Lee and Benedict Arnold. I fear they have done some damnable things, only in the hopes of benefitting themselves.”

\--

Luis and Scott returned to Manhattan early the next morning, both eager to talk to Sam about their adventure to New Jersey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duraznos prensados are dried pressed peaches.


	13. Hang Together

The winter of 1777 was a cold and bitter one for those living in Valley Forge. James was one of these unlucky souls, following Washington deeper and deeper into the jaws of death, it seemed. As the months dragged on, more men succumbed to the cold, starvation, or exposure, or any combination of the three. James bit back tears as he watched Shaker’s body be placed in a frigid grave, two days after setting up camp. He thought of Steve, of how their bed was always plied with the warmest quilt once the weather turned, of how the bed-warmer was used every night until spring came again. He found comfort in knowing Steve was safe, looking after his mother and sister, and always under the watchful eyes of Sam and Peggy.

The day after Shaker’s burial, James was summoned to the General’s tent.

“Were Major Tallmadge here, he could have spoken to you about this, but in his absence, I shall do it. The British have spies, as you are no doubt aware, and I am of the mind that we should use spies of our own. We have a few men already; Hercules Mulligan in New York City, and there is a small band of Tallmadge’s childhood friends on Long Island. But I believe that we need more eyes in New York, as the British have so recently taken it.”

James smiled. “Your Excellency, I have just the people you need.”

As soon as he was able, James wrote letters to Sam, Peggy, and Steve. It was finally time to take the war to them.


	14. No Safe Harbor to be Found

Steve went to Peggy’s house to meet with her, Sam, Wanda, and Nat to discuss a plan.

“You’ve got the code book?”

Nat held up a set of leather-encased pages before tossing them on the table they stood around.

“Good. Now, we’re supposed to have aliases, to protect ourselves. I’ve already got one.” Steve smirked.

“Oh? What is it?” Nat asked, turning to him as she adjusted her sleeves.

“Joseph Norris.”

“That’s not bad. It’s not as good as Agent 355 though.” Peggy complemented Steve.

Sam held his hands up. “This isn’t a competition. Now, I won’t use an alias. I used to be a slave, I’ll just go by Wilson.”

“So you’re using your last name.” Nat was now patting her skirts down.

“Yeah Romanoff, I am. You got a problem with that?”

It was Nat’s turn to hold her hands up. “No, no problem at all. I’m just Mila Pozlin now.”

“Wanda, what about you?” Peggy looked across the table, where the smaller brunette sat.

Wanda looked up from her tailoring. “I shall be Achinoam Avraham, Pietro shall take the name Ira.” She went back to tailoring.

“And you’re sure your brother is okay with this?” Peggy placed a hand on Wanda’s arm.

She didn’t look up, but continued stitching the shirt sleeve. “Yes, Pietro is fine with it. He hears many things, my brother.” Wanda gave a little smile, almost pained.

“Then it’s settled. Now, if we want our activities to remain secretive, we must all memorize the code in this book.” Steve picked the book up.

“Already done.” Peggy and Nat said at the same time. They turned to each other, smiling more with their eyes than their mouths.

“Wanda, can you relay any information that can’t be given through code?”

Wanda nodded, once again not looking up from her sewing.

“Good. Now to test the system.” Steve flipped through the book, stopping at several pages along the way. He then set the book down and picked up a quill and a small slip of paper, writing a series of numbers upon it.

625, 486, 500.

“There. Wanda, if you may.”

Wanda handed Steve the finished shirt, into which a small piece of fabric had been sewn. Steve slipped the paper into this fabric hiding place and folded the shirt, handing it back to Wanda.

“Take this with you. We’ll see if we get a response.”

“And in the meantime?” Sam asked, turning back from Peggy’s street-facing window.

“In the meantime, we carry on our lives as if nothing has changed. We all know each other, it wouldn’t be odd for us to meet up at the tavern or the newspaper shop.”

“Except for me.” Peggy said.

“Yes, except for you Peggy.” Steve faced her. “Which is why we’ll need you to get into the higher-up stuff, with Arnold and Andre and people like that. You, Peggy, will be able to go where the rest of us can’t.” He turned back to the room as a whole. “Everyone know what they’re doing?”

Everyone nodded.

“Excellent. Then the Culper Ring has been well established in New York City.”


	15. Sloth like Rust

Wanda visited James on June 22, 1780, the day before the Battle of Springfield was fought. It was evening, dark and muggy, and James was headed back to camp after a day spent strategizing by the river. He heard a rustling in the woods that bordered the river, and stopped short, a hand reaching for his pistol. When he saw that it was Wanda, he let his hand drop from the weapon as she approached him.

“Why are you here, _gudla_?”

“I came to warn you of the battle tomorrow.”

James held his hands near her shoulders, as if he were about to gently grip her. “You needn’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that, _dob_.”

He lowered his hands. “The people prepare. That was Steve’s message to me two years ago. And prepare we have. So if I die tomorrow, let it come. It will be for the better.” He was headed back when Wanda stopped him again, catching up with him despite her skirts and the tall grass.

She took both hands and removed a chain from around her neck. “Stay alive.”

James lowered his head enough for Wanda to place the chain around his neck. The silver disk was engraved with a symbol, like an apostrophe next to a stylized n.

“It’s a _chai_ , it means life.” Wanda explained once James had straightened back up. “We need you alive, _dob_. Steve needs you alive.” She embraced him, and he wrapped his arms around her. “I shall see you soon.” She slipped from his grasp and departed back into the woods.

“Until we meet again.” James walked the rest of the way to the camp in silent thought, pondering Wanda’s words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gudla is an Angloromani word meaning honey.
> 
> Dob is a transliteration of the Hebrew word דֹּב meaning bear.


	16. All the Implements of a Solider

The Battle of Springfield went much differently than James thought it would. After the first lines had fired, General Greene ordered a full charge. It wasn’t until James had been shot in the shoulder and fell from Hercules that he began to doubt if he would return home.

The ground was hard, the fall likely exacerbated the wound even more. Dugan had sent Hercules into the woods before shooting a lobster and bayoneting a Hessian. James tried to move; his left shoulder hurt too much to use, every attempt at movement only sunk the ball deeper. At last he stood, his pistol raised as he ran at the enemy line, shooting a lobster as he crossed over. He kept shooting until a tall Hessian stood in front of him. He pulled the trigger. _Click_. The gun was empty. The Hessian grabbed the pistol from James and- _clunk_.

\--

James came to slowly. He could feel himself being dragged. He looked at his shoulder; it was still bleeding profusely from when he had been shot earlier. The field was being cleared, Hessian and British soldiers moved around slowly, looking for fallen or wounded men. James closed his eyes and let himself lose consciousness.

\--

The next time James woke up, he was flat on his back. There was something beneath him; wooden…a table. He wore breeches but was shirtless, and his arm…He looked at his left arm. Or, where his left arm should have been. In it’s place, a man stitched up his shoulder. A little man smiled down at him.

“That ball you took was deeply embedded in your shoulder. But, I got it out eventually.” He held up a pair of tongs, which held the still-bloody musket ball. “Unfortunately,” the German put the tongs down, “your arm had to go. The wound was infected and would have turned the whole appendage gangrenous had I not gotten the ball in time.”

James clamped his teeth together, it was all he could do to keep from screaming or fighting back. He was thankful when he finally passed out again.

\--

“You’re in luck. Major Schmidt is letting you return to your camp.”

James took off for the woods as soon as the little man finished speaking. General Greene’s men were still camped where they had been last night; in a clearing near the woods and the river. He leaned against a tree, allowed himself to catch his breath before he showed his face again. When he entered the camp, he was greeted warmly by Dugan.

“You’re back, you’re alive, you’re-” Dugan looked at the space where his arm used to be.

“Yeah, Dugan, I’m back. I’m alive.” James patted Dugan on the arm. “I just wish I wasn’t right now.”

He made it to the officers’ house without attracting any more unwanted attention. James was glad for the separate room, he could relearn everything there, in much-needed privacy. He sat on the bed, carefully taking off one boot, then the other. He took off the coat, and pulled his shirt over his head before slowly peeling his breeches off. James fell asleep quickly that night, wondering what Steve would say when he saw him again.


	17. Some Future Day will Bring Me Happiness

James did not have to think about what Steve would say for long. The war was over on September 3, 1783, and James headed back to New York that very day. He approached the house from the back, dismounting and untacking Hercules before heading to the front of the house. He knocked on the door three times.

The door opened slowly, and he was pulled inside by Steve.

“You’re alive.” Steve breathed, reaching out to press his hands to James’ cheeks. “You’re back.” He dropped his hands as his eyes fell to James’ left side.

“Hessians. I took a ball to the shoulder and lost consciousness on the enemy side. When I woke up, it was gone.”

Steve shook his head. “Come on, your mother and Rebecca will want to see you.” He started up the stairs, stopping and looking over his shoulder when he didn’t hear James following him.

“My father? Jack and Andy?” James spoke softly, as if he already knew the answer.

“They never came back.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” James’ voice rose slightly.

“You were constantly moving.” Steve raised his voice.

There were footsteps down the second floor hall, and Winifred appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Steve, what’s all this? Is someone here?” Her eyes fell upon James, and she ran down the stairs.

“James! You’re home!” She wrapped her arms around him. “Rebecca, come quickly! Your brother’s back!”

Rebecca’s smaller feet made less noise as she ran down the hall and the stairs, joining her mother on the first floor.

Winifred released her son. “Let me look at you.” Her hands went to his cheeks, as Steve’s had only moments before. “You’ve changed. Your eyes look different, more distant. Come look, Becky.” Rebecca was at her mother’s side, looking into her brother’s eyes.

“You’re right, they have changed.”

Winifred moved aside, allowing the siblings to embrace. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too, Becky.”

Rebecca released her brother. “We’ll let you and Steve get caught up. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.”

“Oh, we do.” James followed Steve up the stairs to the room they had shared, seven years ago. James shut the door, tugging off his uniform coat and sitting down hard on the bed, pulling his boots off one after the other. He didn’t speak to Steve as he methodically undressed, unwinding the cravat from his neck and unbuttoning his waistcoat, stopping at his breeches.

“I’m going after those Hessians.” Steve said from the basin stand.

“What?”

Steve turned to face James. “I’m going after those Hessians, the ones that did that to you.” He pointed to James’ shoulder, still covered by his shirt.

“You don’t have to do that. Besides, the city is still crawling with lobsters.”

“I know I don’t. But I’m going to anyway. First thing tomorrow. Even if I have to board a ship and go all the way to Germany, I’ll get whoever’s responsible. You have my word.”


	18. The Passion of Men

Steve was a man of his word; when he gave it, he meant it. And after James woke up screaming from a nightmare for the third time that week, Steve decided to make good on his word. 

He took one of James’ pistols and a musket fitted with a bayonet, saddled Roe, and headed for New Jersey, where he met a group of Hessian soldiers marching toward New York. It was November 26, 1783, the day after the British finally left the city. Steve inquired as to who lead that particular unit; the answer came back that it was Major Johann Schmidt, and that his unit had fought at the Battle of Springfield. Steve rode up to where the Major lead his men, next to him walked a little man who wore small round glasses.

Steve slowed Roe to a walk that matched the Hessians’ march, drew back the pistol, and shot the little man dead in the street. Then he raised the musket and ran Schmidt through with the bayonet. His work done, Steve spurred Roe into a gallop and rode back home as quickly as he could, having avenged his friend, even if it was in cold blood.

As he slipped back into the house, Steve knew that James would be able to sleep easier knowing that the men responsible for his pain were dead, and could do him no further harm.

As Steve climbed back into their bed, James stirred and asked Steve what had happened to him. Steve simply pressed a kiss to James’ brow.

“Those Hessians won’t bother you, or anyone else, again. Go back to sleep.”

They slept until morning broke, then went into Manhattan, where they met Peggy, Sam, Luis, Nat, and Wanda at Pietro’s tavern for a celebration. They had survived the war, and would age in peace alongside the new nation.


End file.
